


set a fire in my head

by Joiedevivre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, past Ana Amari/Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13300407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joiedevivre/pseuds/Joiedevivre
Summary: Fareeha asks more than McCree is willing to give.





	set a fire in my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crookedfingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedfingers/gifts).



“You know I always thought you were cute.”

“Thought?” McCree asks lazily, leaning over to snag the lighter from the bedside table. 

“Well.” Fareeha half turns, picking her shirt up off the floor with a mischievous grin. “You’re not as young as you used to be.”

“I ain’t old!” McCree protests. “Not even forty.” He lights his cigar and looks away, sure that if he keeps looking at her, he’ll start to feel truly old. 

“Don’t pout, Jesse. It doesn’t suit a man your age.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, tries to play it off like he’s not bothered. Wouldn’t really be fair, Not now. When he glances up again, she’s pulled her T-shirt over her head. Even now, immediately post fuck, he finds he’s titillated by the curve of her breasts, bare underneath and not quite visible behind the thin fabric. 

“Why’d you do this, really?” he asks, surprising even himself. He hadn’t meant to ask. Better not to, but still he did. 

“You being cute isn’t enough reason?”

He realizes he’s waiting for her to do something else, to pull her long hair out of her collar and plait it into a long braid, twist it into a bun and pin it at her neck. 

She doesn’t have long hair. Her hair barely brushes the tops of her shoulders. One hand combed through it took care of any bedhead already, and she’s looking at him, searching his face.

“What is it?” she asks. “Where did you get yourself lost now?”

“‘M not lost. Just.... enjoying the afterglow.” He waves a hand lazily. 

“You’ve been lost for a long time, Jesse McCree. Everyone knows it.”

He swings his legs out of bed and lets the sheet fall behind him, heads for the bathroom. Her words are too sharp, too pointed at things he’d rather not confront now. He can’t help but meet her eyes as he brushes past her, and her gaze follows him, he feels it on his back as he goes. “Your bedroom talk needs work,” he mumbles. 

“Bedtime is over. Time to come back to reality.”

“Felt pretty real to me,” he turns on the faucet and plunges his hands in the water before it’s hot. 

“You’ve been hiding for years. Are you listening to me? I know you heard the call. We all did. It’s time.”

“Already had my time,” he splashes water on his face, wracked with a distant feeling of guilt and self loathing. “You know that. You were there.”

Fareeha makes a dismissive noise. “I was too young then. And you’re not too old now. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

“Fareeha.” McCree shuts the water off. “You ain’t gonna understand this but I’m gonna say it anyway. All of that - Overwatch, saving the world, things that matter - it’s done. It’s behind me. I can’t do it anymore, and I-“

“Can’t?” Her eyes burn with temper even in the dim light. “You won’t.”

“All right, won’t. Happy? It doesn’t matter. I won’t, cause I can’t, cause I - don’t want to do it without them.” He falls silent. 

Fareeha says nothing, and the only sound between them is a drip of water from the tap. 

“If they couldn’t do it,” he shakes his head. “No one can. Ain’t even worth trying.”

“You mean...Gabriel, and-“ 

“All of them,” he says firmly. “Gabriel, Jack, your- your mother. You think you know what it is. You don’t. And I’m telling you, I’m not doin it again. So if this was some kinda, kinda pity fuck, because you think that’s what it would take to convince a man like me, you can forget it. I had my share of pity fucks, and ain’t one of ‘em ever been worth it.”

“I thought you were a better man.” The words are bitter. Hurt. 

“That was your mistake, then.”

“It’s your responsibility. Your duty. We could use your experience. We need you.” 

The change in tact is too late. “Lotta people need a lotta things. I’m sure you’ll do just fine in your righteous cause. Went real well the first time, right? Didn’t lose anyone you cared about? Wanna do all that again?”

He doesn’t look up until he hears the door slam.


End file.
